Summer in Spain
by franklymydear3
Summary: Modern AU. Aged 17, Matthew goes to Spain with Mary's family for the summer where Patrick signs him up for a particularly dangerous race. Matthew is keen to give it ago, but Mary not so much.
1. Chapter 1

A/N - Me and Callitwhatyouwill77 devised and wrote this together as a sort of stand-alone thing, however since then we have had a few requests to carry it on. There is no real build up to this story so the background information is basically that Matthew and Mary are both 17 and have been family friends forever. Isobel is away for the summer helping out water-aid get clean water in LEDC countries so Mary's family have taken Matthew with them to Rosamund and Marmaduke's villa in spain. The idea is that at some point in this holiday, Patrick signs Matthew up to join a bull run (neither of us were really sure if this was a real thing but basically a load of bulls are released and a crowd of runners have to beat them to the finish line) and Matthew is kind of enthusiastic to give it a try because he's quite a keen runner. Mary, who has had a crush on him for a while now, is not so enthusiastic. This story starts with Mary, Matthew, Patrick, Sybil and Edith stood by the start line as Matthew prepares to race.

If, after reading, you would like us to continue with this, please review and let us know! Also, please do check out Callitwhatyouwill77 on here is you're a M/M fan!

Also, if you have any better ideas for a name for this story please do either review or message me or callitwhatyouwill77 because we're both not too sure about it.

That said, here goes. Hope you enjoy it :)

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"If you do this Matthew..." she didn't know what to say. "I will never speak to you again."

Mary's words hang in the air, her threat palpable enough to cause not only Matthew's, but everyone's jaws to drop slightly as Matthew takes her in. He wants to gauge if she's serious, but he knows she is. He knows Mary doesn't make empty threats.

She's being selfish and impeccably self-centred, she knows this, but she doesn't have Sybil's blind faith or Edith's steady trust. She doesn't have it in her to watch him walk out there and pretend that any of this is okay with her. Even Patrick looks a little taken aback, just a few seconds ago he was clapping Matthew on the back, revelling in all the excitement, and now his eyes have widened in shock. Mary is his eldest cousin and he's been in and out of her family's house since the day he was born; he knows she means what she says. And he knows she'll stick to her guns.

Mary also knows there's a risk and a price that comes with a threat like this, knows that it's entirely possible, probable even, that Matthew or any of the others are willing to call her bluff or even that her stupidity and stubbornness might provoke her to go through with it. She's the kind of person that sticks to her guns no matter how ridiculous and how much it hurts herself to do it. She's not the kind of person that loses face. The others know this too- if Sybil's wide eyed stare, Edith's sharp intake of breath, and Patrick's muttered "Oh shit," are any indication. But it barely registers in Mary's mind as her eyes lock with Matthew's piercing blue ones, and she wonders if he knows what she's really trying to say.

 _Please don't do this. You have nothing to prove to me. If you get hurt..._

If he got hurt. It's this thought that causes the heat behind her eyes but it's the look on his face that causes her to turn her back and walk away. His look tells her it's a risk he's willing to take, that he doesn't quite believe her, that he doesn't know what she really means. She can't take it anymore, she can't watch it, it's too painful, and so she walks away from the situation which is ironically hypocritical but at this point she doesn't care. She can't watch him do this.

 _I'm never going to speak to him again. I'm never going to speak to him again. I'm never going to speak to him again._

If she repeats it enough times in her head it might give her the strength she knows she doesn't have in order to do it. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest as she tries to push away the horrible feeling of acute disappointment when he doesn't come chasing after her like someone from one of those stupid movies he keeps getting her to watch.

She walks all the way back to her aunt's villa and sits in the garden on the patio steps, pathetically crying.

She hears the loud gong that signals the start of the running and she closes her eyes at the thought of what could be happening. Despite the extreme heat, goosebumps erupt on her arms and her toes curl in frightful anticipation. With each second that passes she gets even more nervous and her mind is flooded with unbidden pictures of Matthew being stomped into the ground, blooded and bruised with his eyes open, unseeing. She takes a deep breath, pushing the image from her mind.

Maybe Sybil was right. Maybe Matthew could do it and he'd be perfectly fine. Maybe they'd all go out for dinner afterwards in celebration and Papa would slap Matthew on the back proudly and give him a toast. Maybe he'd be ok. He was some sort of qualified sprinting champion after all, she'd seen the picture of the finals in Manchester on Matthew's screensaver when he set up films- his best friend James slapping Matthew on the back as the first-place medal was hung around his neck. Maybe it'll all work out and she can swallow her pride and give him a teasing smile and roll her eyes at him again, because their subtle flirting and playful arguments have become an intrinsic part of her that she doesn't know what to do without. She wakes up each morning looking forward to it and goes to sleep each night re-living the events of the day. Besides, she doesn't think she can stay away from him when he does such infuriating things like wink at her across the dinner table as he taps her feet with his or buy her her favourite very rare chocolates with the last of his pocket money just to see the smile on her face.

Mary looked down at the dusty ground and stomped on a fly that had landed next to her foot. _How dare Matthew go and risk his life when she had explicitly told him not to!_

Because what if Sybil was wrong. What if the others were all wrong and Mary is right. Yes, he's sprinted before but never in a crowd of other people with bulls chasing them that could very easily catch up with him and crush him beneath their stampeding hooves. Did bulls have hooves? Mary didn't know, or care for that matter, because perhaps he'll be hospitalised and she'll end up clutching his hand and praying to the god she's not sure if she believes in that he'll wake up and be ok. Just so she can tease him and smack his arm as he grins at her, sweeping an annoying hand through his annoyingly lovely messy blonde hair. And then Mary suddenly realises that she's already praying.

 _Dear Lord, I don't pretend to have much credit with you. I'm not even sure that you're there. But if you are, and I've ever done anything good, I beg you to keep him safe._

It's ironic because it was Matthew that taught her that it's ok to be vulnerable sometimes, and it's alright to seek quiet moments to be alone to sort it out and it's alright to ask for help and put yourself out there if you need it. She's slightly bitter about this, because, quite obviously, she had put herself out there to implore him for help- begging him not to do it- and he'd rejected it. But now silence is stretching around her worry consumed body, save for the pounding in her chest and thousands of painful images screaming through her brain.

She'd never felt quite like this before. Her throat feels swollen and her mouth feels dry and the butterflies in her stomach feel more like parasites. She thinks she might be sick. She's been trying to ignore the fact that she likes him for a long time now, simply because she has no idea where having this kind of a crush could lead. It frightens her that she cares so much about him. She's had boyfriends before, sure, but none of them have made her feel the way Matthew does, and that scares her. Because Matthew is her age, he doesn't live nearby or go to the same school but she's known him forever and he's smart, he's funny, he's kind and gentle and attractive. He wants so to study English Literature at Cambridge. He's caring and he's interesting and, oh god he's handsome. Mary isn't used to people's affection being shown, she knows her parents love her but they are old fashioned in their ways and although they do occasionally tell her it isn't often. _You are my darling daughter, and I love you, as hard as it is for an Englishman to say the words._ Granny is much the same. Her and Edith have their brief moments of friendship but most of the time they just bicker and fight. Sybil is a darling of course but she's possibly even more strong willed than Mary and likes to spend her time righting injustice in the world. She's also young, and doesn't quite understand some things yet. Reggie was always kind to Mary, he was her godfather and she felt eminently loved by him and Isobel too, but when he had died she'd lost him and Isobel had come over less because it reminded her of what she'd lost.

She remembers when Reggie died so well because she'd been the first of her family to know. She'd been woken up in the very early morning to her phone going and had picked it up to find Matthew distraught on the other line, crying and wavering as she tried to comfort him. She'd woken up the driver at four in the morning and he'd taken her all the way to Manchester. It had been odd, because her and Matthew hadn't really been best friends at that point so she wasn't sure why he had turned to her or why she had felt the need to travel at that god-awful hour so he could cry into her shoulder as they lay in his bed and she could hold him and whisper to him.

This only brings her back to Matthew.

She doesn't move from that spot for a long time. The thunderstorm in her gut twists her up from the inside and she's never contemplated before that it's possible to break your own heart but in that moment when she hears the second gong hers might as well have been that vase of granny's that Matthew had broken when he'd punched that scumbag of a boyfriend she'd had last year. She feels it shatter inside her at the noise because she knows she's been sat there for an hour now and whatever has happened has happened. The chase is over. And Matthew is either ok or he isn't.

What if it had happened? What if he'd slipped and fell into the dust and it was all her fault because she'd said the wrong thing. She hadn't supported him and maybe it was her fault for not doing so. She's stupid. Because she can't think of a single thing that makes it worth not talking to him ever again and she can't imagine anything that would provoke him to never speak to her again, if the threat had been reversed. He's so incomprehensible; he'd tell her she's beautiful without a stutter, that he wants her to be happy, that if her boyfriends weren't good to her they'd have to answer to him, but for some reason he's happy to bargain her not talking to him just to take part in a stupid race.

She imagines his body thudding onto the solid ground and she wants to run back over to him and make certain he's ok, even though she knows these things she's picturing may not be true. The chances are that he's fine, he's done the race and he did well. She'd surely know if something had happened? Someone would have come to tell her?

She's angry with him mostly. She wants to slap him and scream at him and make sure he knows that she'll keep her threat and it's all his fault. But she feels all anger evaporate when she hears the gate to the garden squeak as it opens and footsteps on the stone. She looks up, her heart beating so erratically she's surprised she hasn't had a heart attack.

It's Matthew. He's walking towards her very slowly, his expression fixed in one of concerned confusion. In spite of herself, relief floods through her when she sees him, but she's already descending into hysteria and she can't breathe and he knows what's happening to her before she does as she struggles for breath and breaks down into tears.

He might be ok, but she isn't.

It irritates her that he's so calm, that he knows exactly what to do during her panic attacks, and he sits there next to her with both his hands clasping hers in her lap, thumbs stroking gently over the back of her hands as his soft voice assures her that she's quite, quite safe and everything is alright. By the time it's over, she's exhausted and sweating slightly from her rapid breathing but she won't give in. He's not getting off that easily. But she can't bring herself to take her hands away.

"What's going on?" He asks, exasperated and utterly bewildered by her more than unusual behaviour. Mary refuses to talk to him, turning her gaze up so she's looking at the sky. She can still see him in her peripheral, his forever messy blonde hair falling over his forehead as he peers at her tearful eyes, trying so desperately to understand.

"You can talk to me, you know." He adds. "I didn't race."

She looks at him properly then. "You didn't?" There's a light in her voice that shows that she's cheered slightly by this knowledge. Matthew shakes his head seriously. "Why not?" she asks.

Matthew squeezes her hands at that. "Because I know you, and you don't make empty threats. And I couldn't bear you never talking to me again."

His words console her more than she will admit. "So," he continues, "are you going to tell me why you made such a threat and then ran off straight afterwards?"

She stammers her next words, unsure how to put her feelings into words. "I - I couldn't watch. I don't know why, I just... couldn't watch."

There's a beat of silence, and Mary can feel her heart slipping out of her fingers.

Matthew nods. He thinks he finally understands what she means; he stayed to watch the race because he's learned over the years that it's best to give Mary time to cool down and he saw the unlucky few that made a stumble and had to be rushed to hospital. He didn't know exactly why she had rejected to him racing so very strongly, but he did know that, if she had told him she was racing, he wouldn't have been able to watch for fear of seeing her get hurt. "I get it," he says slowly.

"Yeah, I just... didn't want you to, you know, die or anything." She jokes, trying to swallow down the lump that is slowly rising in her throat. "I still have so many things to say about your hideous green flipflops. It would be a shame to see them go to waste." Matthew laughs, despite how he can still hear the uncertain waver in her voice. He removes one of his hands from its place in her lap and wraps his arm around her shoulders. She closes her eyes and leans against him.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're going soft," he mutters, resting his chin on her head.

"Fortunately, you know better." She says in return. Part of it is because of her pride, and she doesn't really want to vocalise how terrified she had been for fear of damaging her reputation. But given that she'd spent the last ten minutes hyperventilating and crying, begging for his help to make her feel normal again

 _(Matthew, I can't breathe.  
It's alright.  
Matthew, please help me.  
I've got you.  
Please, please help me.  
It's perfectly alright.)_

It is more for the second reason that she doesn't elaborate: She is afraid of how strongly she feels. She's terrified that if she really looks at him, talks to him, lets him in, she won't be able to step back again when the inevitable rejection hurts her. Matthew and her and too different. Matthew, who can make you feel like you're worth the entire world when he fixes his bright-eyed gaze on you. Matthew who doesn't have creepers growing and crawling and tightening around the chains on his heart. Matthew who doesn't destroy everything he tries to love.

Her body is still recovering from its episode and she figures he won't mind if she goes up to her room to rest, she just doesn't want to move from his arms, not quite yet, because she doesn't know when or if she'll get a chance to be there again.

"Are you alright now?" He asks, and she sighs because he's so goddamn caring and to be honest, after creating so much drama she's not sure if she deserves it.

"I'm tired. I think I might go up and rest for a bit." But she doesn't move. Matthew murmurs his agreement; he knows from previous experience how exhausted these attacks leave her afterwards and he hates seeing her like this because, although it's a part of her and he wouldn't wish to change her in any way, he sees how horrible it is for her and he hates to see her suffer.

When she finally, reluctantly, removes herself from Matthew's warm embrace she stands up and walks over to the entrance to the villa. She turns back to him when he calls her and smiles when he stands up, his shorts and t-shirt and green flipflops (they really were hilarious) rather becoming.

"Patrick has suggested we all go down to the beach in an hour or two," he says, "I don't want to push you if you're too tired, but it wouldn't be nearly as fun without you." He grins at her and she smiles back.

"Of course. I'll walk down with you in… shall we say an hour?"

Matthew agrees at once, surprised she took him up on the offer.

 _As if I'd miss the chance to see him wearing nothing but swim shorts_ , she thinks as she goes up to her room.

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A/N - we are very much open to prompts which you can sent to either of us, please review and tell us what you thought


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – so we did carry it on, and here's the second instalment.

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"Has anyone seen Mary?" Robert asks. Matthew watches as the rest of the family come traipsing into the villa after watching the race, Patrick is in deep conversation with his friend Edmund- or Ed as everyone calls him- and Edith is discussing where to go for dinner with her mother; Sybil, however, looks dutifully concerned standing next to Robert, whom it seems has noticed that Mary left the race early on her own.

Matthew speaks up. "She's upstairs," he says, pouring himself a glass of water (he isn't good with heat and although he probably could tan, he's tenacious and lathers on sun screen like there's no tomorrow and drinks plenty of water because he's a pig when he's dehydrated).

"She left the race early," Robert observes, "It's not like her to miss an event of any sort." Robert is right, it isn't like her at all, and Matthew struggles to think of a dutiful excuse so that Mary would not be disturbed from her rest. He doesn't like lying, and rarely ever does it, but he supposes it doesn't matter when it's for a good cause. (read: when it means, Mary doesn't have to put up with inquisitive glares and presumptuous looks).

"She had a panic attack," at least that part isn't a lie, "I think the crowd brought it on. She's just resting." He tells them. Sybil, Edith and Patrick all try to catch his eye, being the only ones present when Mary had her outburst they knew there was something amiss with Matthew's explanation, but he focusses on Robert instead. The man's face falls. "She's alright," he assures him, "she's just tired."

Nobody questions Matthew further because they all know that Mary hates people making a fuss and feeling sorry for her. She doesn't want sympathy, she never has, and it irks her when people go on treating her like a china doll. They all know this very well, but it doesn't stop Sybil from drawing Matthew a side.

"What really happened?" She asks him innocently. Sybil is a very eloquent thirteen-year-old and she knows exactly what she's doing and how to do it, but she also cares a great deal about her eldest sister and, unlike Edith, she's not opposed to showing it.

"It's really up to Mary to tell you," Matthew says, somewhat defensively. "She's fine and she's coming to the beach with us in a bit." His attempt to change the subject don't work on Sybil- they rarely do- and she goes up to Mary's bedroom intent on finding out exactly what is going on. A second later, Edith cottons on and follows and Matthew found himself wishing he'd come up with a more serviceable explanation.

When the two sisters push into Mary's room- they don't knock, they never do- she's lying down over her sheets on her side, her eyes open yet drooping slightly. Sybil plonks herself down on the bed next to Mary and lies down to face her.

Mary looks at her and groans, her rest predictably disturbed. "Would you care to enlighten us on what happened back there?" Sybil asks, raising an eyebrow at her Mary to warn her that she will not take any bullshit.

"Matthew says you had a panicked in the crowd," Edith explained.

"He's a horrible liar," Sybil adds, "it's quite sweet really."

"He's not lying," Mary argues, coolly, "that's exactly what happened." She rolls onto her back just as Edith sits on the other side of her. She's surrounded by their disbelieving looks so she gets up and walks swiftly to her suitcase, pulling out two different swim suits. "Now, if you insist on being in my room you can tell me which one I should wear." She holds them both up to her sisters who both take a moment to consider. All three of them have always regarding picking clothes as a very serious matter; the Crawley family weren't A list celebrities- not in Spain anyway- but they were very much amongst the famous and social elite when it came to status. Robert came from a famous family and Cora had been an extremely well regarded model when she lived in America, their union had only increased their stardom tenfold and all three Crawley sisters were well used to being followed by paparazzi and seeing their faces on the front of magazines. They had all quickly learnt that, should they want to avoid rather nasty articles on themselves, it was best to not make a quick trip down to the corner store in sweatpants and a tank top. Not that they ever had the need to make a quick trip to the corner store.

"The black bikini," Edith and Sybil agree at once and Mary goes to her ensuite to put it on under her dress. When she comes back out, she realises that neither Edith, nor Sybil have dropped the subject.

"Why were you so angry with Matthew?" Edith questions. Mary looks into her mirror and sorts out her hair and face which have both been sufficiently messed by her crying. She ignores Edith and takes enormous pleasure in doing so.

"Mary please tell us," Sybil implores, "It was clearly upsetting you and if you can tell Matthew, you can tell us."

"Who says I told Matthew?" Mary says playfully. Sybil rolls her eyes and huffs, Edith gives her younger sister a look that clearly states: _did you honestly expect her to tell us?_ Sybil has her own suspicions of course but she keeps them to herself because the wrath of an irritated Mary is not something she wishes to take on. She loves Mary, but she wishes she'd admit that she has an undying crush on their family friend so they could all get on with their days without having to sit through hours of argumentative flirting and sexual tension.

It's no better when they're at the beach. Edmund has gone back to his yacht so Patrick joins Matthew, Sybil and Edith in a game of two a side volleyball while Mary lies idly on her front in her bikini to tan her back. She faces them, using the pretence at watching their game as an excuse to stare blatantly as Matthew's toned chest while she delicately applied sun-screen to her face and front. Realising she really doesn't want to burn, she holds up her sun screen bottle and loudly, albeit excessively politely, asks Sybil if she'd be a darling and do her back.

It's at that exact moment when Sybil _accidentally_ knocks the ball into the sea and calls an apology back to Mary as she runs in to get it. Mary sighs, and resigns to doing it herself with difficulty when she sees a pair of ankles in her eyeline lightly dusted with dark hair. At first, she assumes it's Patrick because of the dark hair but when she looks up, eyes grazing over the dark hair on his legs to the light hair on his head.

"I'll do it, if you want," Matthew says kindly, his hand outstretched for the bottle, smiling sweetly.

"Thank you," she says in return, shivering a little as he kneels down by her side and rubs the cream into her back. She closes her eyes at the feel of his hands massaging her back and shoulders and she gasps when she feels his fingers dip beneath the tie in her top and then move down to the stretch of skin above her bikini bottoms.

"Are you alright?" he asks, in response to her sharp intake of breath.

It takes her a while to come out of her reverie. "Mhmm? Yes fine." She mumbles, decidedly distracted. The images that are flitting through her mind now are rather improper and certainly not things she should be thinking in public- where anyone can hear her.

"Fancy joining us?" He questions once he's finished and the bottle is put to one side. Mary thinks about this, and to be honest his smile and toplessness is making it rather difficult to refuse but still, she shakes her head, apologising and making a terrible excuse.

"Volleyball isn't my forte," she says, "sorry."

Matthew cocks and eyebrow and before she really knows what's happening, he's grabbed her waist and thrown her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. He runs over to their game with her bashing her fists lightly against his back as they both laugh.

"Not your forte huh?" he asks spinning her around, "I seem to remember you thrashing both me and Patrick last year." She's giggling despite herself and she has quite a pleasant view of his bottom in his trunks, but she's becoming rather light headed- whether that's because of his hand on her thigh or the blood rushing to her head remains to be seen- so she petitions for him to put her down.

She can't keep the laugh from her voice. "Matthew Crawley, put me down!"

"Not until you agree to play!" He continues spinning and she's gripping his back afraid she might fall.

"Fine! Fine!" she laughs and he places her gently on the sand, steadying her when she stumbles because of how dizzy he's made her.

She does thrash them and she spends so much time bragging about it that Matthew picks her up again and runs into the sea with her, throwing her into the water. Patrick, Edith and Sybil watch on in hysterics as Mary leaps on Matthew's back and pulls him under with her. Matthew doesn't expect this and when he emerges, spitting out a mouth full of ocean, he turns around to see Mary doubled over with laughter with the water lapping just above her waist. He's about to splash her, when Patrick calls over that they're expected back for dinner in ten minutes and they should go now so they're in time to change. So, instead he flashes her a grin and begins to wade out of the water.

"Matthew?" He turns back around to her at once because she sounds so suddenly horror stricken. Oh god, she didn't want to tell him this, but what else could she do? She's so incredibly nervous because she doesn't know, and can't gauge, what his reaction will be- whether he'll laugh at her and leave her stranded or if he'll be disgusted by her admission. But she doesn't really have any other choice because, especially if there are any paparazzi, she's in trouble.

"Yeah?" He replies, taking a few steps toward her. "What is it?" He asks when she stays silent.

"When you threw me earlier… I … imyhvlstm."

"Sorry, I didn't quite get that?" He says, looking at her inquisitively with a curious smirk.

She lowers her voice to a whisper. "The ties at the sides of my bikini seem to have come undone." She deadpans, giving him a look that clearly dares him to laugh. He can't help it, and he presses his lips together tightly as he giggles because it really is hilarious that she's no standing a few feet away from him, half naked because she's lost half of her swimsuit. But then his laughter dies because he realises that she's _half naked_ and stood only _yards_ away from him and he has to think of something else quickly or he'll embarrass himself.

"Don't you dare laugh!" Mary hisses, "or I'll take your trunks and you'll have to walk back naked." Mary is actually more than tempted to give this thought a go because, although she'd never admit it out loud, she's dreamed of seeing him sans clothing for quite some time (literally dreamed about it on a few occasions) and she won't deny that it's an enticing image.

"Alright," Matthew says. His laughter has died and she sees him gulp and suddenly become rather nervous and of course this is the kind of horrifyingly embarrassing thing that would happen to her in front of him because apparently, the world is not on her side. She feels foolish and she can tell her face has turned beetroot red. "Alright, I'll go and get your towel. Stay there." He rushes off to go and get her towel.

 _Stay there,_ Mary thinks, rolling her eyes at his words. As if she had much choice. She looks over to the stretch of sand, and realises, to her absolute mortification, that the others have already packed up her towel in the bag and left. It's only her and Matthew left, and between them they only have one bikini top and a pair of swimming trunks. And his godforsaken green flipflops.

She inwardly curses her father for deciding to text Patrick in that exact moment. She curses Matthew for throwing her and she curses Edith because, well, she's Edith. Matthew comes traipsing back over to her rather solemnly and shuffles his feet under the water. "Um… what shall we do?" He asks her, his apprehension palpable.

She flaps her arms in an exasperated shrug, "I don't know!"

Matthew thinks for a second and looks down the beach. There are a fair few other people, some locals, some not, and he realises in that moment how ridiculous their situation is.

"Why don't I go back to the villa and get some clothes? I'll be back in a bit." He suggests.

"Matthew," she sighs, "It's fifteen minutes each way, Papa will be furious if we're that late. He'll want to know what's happened!"

"Alright," he says, "you have my trunks and go back. I'll think of something."

She's irritated at how gallant he is because it would be so much easier for her if he was a total dick so at least she could tell herself that whenever he did something horribly lovely or extremely attractive. Unfortunately, he was a perfect gentleman and it only made her fondness for him grow.

But she couldn't let him do this, as much as she would have admired the view.

"No, don't be silly, that wouldn't help anything." She says, but her tone tells him what she really means: _"thanks, but I can't ask you to do that."_

"Seriously Mary, if there are any paparazzi around here, it's better me than you." Matthew reasoned. Mary thinks about this; it probably won't make much difference- she could think of the headlines now: _Lady Mary Crawley emerges from the water with naked mystery man._ Then she realises that they already know who Matthew is, they've been family friends for long enough and spotted together enough times to make it a real scandal, so it would probably be something more along the lines of: _Mary Crawley and Matthew Crawley- romantic beach stroll, or shag in the sand?_ God, she hated tabloids.

"Honestly Matthew, they'll just accuse us of some kind of illicit affair."

"Well, still, at least this way you won't have to live with photos of you naked being brought out whenever the tabloids talk about your family." He says, looking at her solemnly.

Mary shakes her head incredulously. "And you're willing to take the fall for me?"

"Yes." He tells her plainly. She looks at him, astounded that he'd do this for her- and honestly rather touched if she's telling the truth- and there's a softness in his eyes that shows her he's not messing around and he's completely seriously prepared to do this. She feels like this is some dramatic heroic sacrifice, and it really is, but it's made distinctly odd by the strangeness of their situation and she can't quite get her head around it. She's still half naked after all.

"I'm so grateful, really, but I can't let you do this." She says, and her words have a finality to them that he knows means she's made up her mind. There's no point in trying to persuade her otherwise. He wants to do all he can though, so he goes back over to the sand and scoured the beach with his eyes to see if anyone has left a towel or scarf or _something_ at least. When he sees his bag lying in the sand he can't believe he hadn't seen it earlier. He looks inside to pull out his towel and laughs when he finds that one of the others must have borrowed it and the only garment in there is a pair of dark blue boxers. He titters slightly. _At least they match her bikini._

He wades back over to her, boxers in hand, and she sees his cheeky grin and then looks at what he's carrying with resignation written clearly on her face; Mary realises that it's the only option she has and it's better than nothing.

So she walks back from the beach, for fifteen minutes, clad in her own top and Matthew's underwear, praying that no one notices.

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A/N – thanks for reading, please tell us what you thought/want to happen next. Again, always open to prompts and are glad to take suggestions.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - sorry it's a short one :/ we hope you like it though, please do tell us what you want to see next

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While Matthew talks to Patrick on the phone, Mary finds herself regretting this whole situation. It's not that she resents being trapped with Matthew, it's just that she hates being trapped. He knows this, so when their adventure to explore the cellar ends up with him not being able to force the door back open he immediately takes the initiative to phone Patrick and the others, who went out hours ago on Edmund's yacht.

"Sorry mate." He has Patrick on speaker and Mary sighs at her cousin's words. "We're about three hours away from the mainland, you'll just have to stay put." Matthew gives her a look of apology and makes a noise of ascent.

"Ok, well we'll see you in a few hours then." He says.

"We'll be as quick as we can, but I'm afraid you'll be there for a while." They can hear the regret in Patrick's voice and they instantly know there is no quick way out of this situation. They say goodbye and Matthew hangs up before stuffing his phone back into the pockets of his shorts. His flipflops flip and flop as he walks over to the couch where she's sat and plonks himself next to her with a bright smile. He's trying to make the best of things.

The basement is a little like a long forgotten sitting room; it's nicely lit and there are two couches either side of a large embroidered rug. Other than this, the room is pretty much empty other than the boxes under the stairs that lead up to the door.

They sit for a while in silence before Matthew gets up and searches through the boxes in the hopes of finding something to do to distract them both from the fact that they're locked in. He pulls out a couple of six packs of beers and places them behind him as Mary moves off the, rather dusty, couch and onto the rug so she's leaning against the foot of it.

"I've found a pack of cards," Matthew says brightly "We can totally play poker until the others get back." He grins devilishly at her. Mary glares at him. She blinks a few times before sighing in annoyance.

"Matthew, you know I suck at poker." His smile sharpens into something more like a smirk and the stupid flittering in her stomach promptly starts up again.

"Even better, what about strip poker?" He asks, wiggling his eyebrows jokily. Mary had never wished she had practised her hand at poker more than in this moment; as much as she would like to see Matthew without clothing, she knew that the probability of winning against him, who annoyingly happened to be a pretty exceptional poker player, was nil. Patrick had taught him, and Patrick was the best poker player either of them had ever come across. At most, he would probably lose a lime green flipflop and she would inevitably end up completely naked. She mentally curses her reluctance to join in when Patrick and his friends played cards.

She watches him sweep a hand through his mussed blonde hair and she curses him for being so damn irresistible.

"How we play cheat and I won't berate you for making such a lame excuse to see my tits," she says her voice ironically sweet and proper. She takes the beer he offers her (although it's probably better to avoid it given that it had been in the cellar for seemingly quite some time) and opens it against the stone step. This action causes Matthew to raise an eyebrow, he had never thought of Lady Mary Crawley as being one to drink from the bottle, let alone know exactly how to open one with a casual ease without a bottle opener.

"Are you indicating that should I find an adequate reason you'll show me your breasts?" His voice is nonchalant, and he deliberately copies her tone from earlier to make him sound more aloof and indifferent, but Mary feels her heart beat just a little faster at his words and she gives him a withering look before feigning astonishment.

"I'm offended by your presumptions Mr Crawley!"

He laughs and she joins him before adding, "you perv."

"Ok fine. Cheat." He agrees, still tittering slightly. She starts with one jack and the game flows on from there. Mary is so distracted thinking about what he had meant by his comment about her tits that she doesn't notice him when he says, "four queens" and gets away with it. Was he indicating that he wanted to see her tits? Probably not. Surely not. She pushes the thought away before she gets carried away and focuses back on the game.

When he eventually puts his last card down she calls cheat and he rolls back onto the floor because he's won. At first, his celebration irks her but then his shirt rides up slightly and his arm muscles flex as he reaches across to get them both another beer and she's consoled.

She shakes her head, "no thanks," she mutters at the beer he offers her. She's gotten drunk with Matthew once before and to put a long story short he ended up practically carrying her home. She had been exceptionally lucky that she hadn't said anything that has given her feelings away. She doesn't want to risk it again because it seems it's all she can think about at the moment, so as soon as she feels herself getting a little tipsy she stops drinking.

"You're not drunk after three beers are you Mary?" He teases her, smirking, but his eyes are soft. He opens his own bottle anyway, twisting the cap and sipping slowly. Matthew could hold his drink pretty well, a lot better than she could anyway, which was probably something to do with how he had spent a lot of time with Patrick and all his older friends. They talk for a little while and laugh together, rolling around on the floor in their own amusement.

"I'm going to miss this," she says in a break in the giggling, the nostalgia in her voice causing him to turn and look at her seriously.

"What do you mean?" He asks, eyebrows furrowing, "we'll still see each other when we're at Uni."

"Really?" she asks, her voice sad in disbelief. "You'll be off with your new life in Cambridge with new friends and I doubt you'll remember to come and visit us anymore."

Matthew scoffs, "as if I'd forget about you."

The words make her gulp down the sudden light feeling that consumed her. She knows he doesn't mean it in the way she wants him to, or the way he makes it sound, but it makes her feel slightly fuzzy all the same.

"Besides," he adds, "you could study History at Cambridge."

She laughs out loud at this. "I'm nowhere near good enough for that!"

"Yes, you are!" He insists. "Mary, I've read your essays and they're amazing. Your only problem is that you lack faith in your own abilities. You can do it, I know you can." His faith in her only makes her wish she could feel the same way.

"Still," she repeats, "I'll miss this." Her admission is quiet and Matthew desperately searches for something so say to make her feel better.

"What? Being locked in a basement for three hours until someone returns to bail us out?" He jokes. It's a feeble attempt, but it works and Mary smiles serenely.

"No, I mean our jokes and games. Drinking with you and laughing with you and loosing dramatically at games of cheat." She turns on her side to face him and he mirrors her action.

"That's probably the closest you'll get to admitting you've a crush on me," his voice is nonchalant and calm, as if he was saying something matter of fact and obvious.

"I… what… I do _not_ … how did you… what?" She sits up and babbles at him, uncharacteristically awestruck.

"Sybil told me." He says simply. "And I've been waiting for you to tell me because I wanted to tell you I liked you too- quite a lot actually- but you're the biggest chicken I've ever come across." Her brain is so muddled that all she can do is think of how irritated she is that he's just sitting there laughing, leaning against his toned arms with his legs outstretched in front of him, and the only way she can think to shut him up takes over her before she can make a conscious decision of what she's doing.

She swings a leg over his so she's straddling his lap and kisses him hard.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N - hope you like this...

* * *

Matthew's brain takes a while to process that it's Mary. That it's _Mary_ whose lips are on his and it's _Mary_ whose straddling his lap. When he does manage to process this, he brings his arms up to rest above her hips and kisses her back, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

Mary no longer knows her own thoughts and she can't bring herself to care about anything besides Matthew, and his mouth, and his tongue, and his hands. All she knows is that she's sat astride Matthew, and he's returning her kiss with equal amounts of fervor and enthusiasm. He's hungry and demanding and his hands have roamed beneath the bottom of her shirt to caress the skin he found there and she's humming and moaning into his mouth in pleasure.

Mary's hands are in his hair, and they stay there as he pulls away from her lips and trails kisses along her jaw before moving to her neck. She tilts her head back and sighs as he sucks her skin, sure to leave marks. She feels his hands move further up her back, stroking her sides underneath her shirt, and she leans away momentarily so he can pull her shirt over her head and off.

Mary suddenly feels rather vulnerable with the loss of her shirt but is encouraged by Matthew's hummed groan as he kisses her again, his hands massaging her breasts outside her bra. His face is flushed and eyes are dark with his pupils blown out in excitement as he looks gently up into her eyes.

"Can I…?" He asks. She notes that his voice is rough and flustered and the sound of it sends chills in rivers down Mary's spine. She leans down and kisses him again, nodding slowly and swallowing the fluttering nerves that erupted inside her. She pulls off his shirt and discards it somewhere behind her before Matthew can move his hands around to her back and undo the clasp on her bra, still maintaining eye contact so he knows what he's doing it ok with her. She again nods and pulls his head to hers to kiss him again. She wonders vaguely why she's so incredibly nervous- this is Matthew, she trusts him, but perhaps it's just that: this is _Matthew_.

She watches with bated breath as he pulls each cup away from her breasts. She feels his breath on her neck as he moves to kiss her shoulder and feels his moan resonate from inside his warm chest before his exhaled, "wow," at the sight of her breasts. She wants to laugh at this but the feeling of his lips trailing back up to her mouth as his hands rub her sides and back are all too much for her to bear and she moans in pleasure.

"Well," she breathes, trying to ease her nerves with a witty comment, "you ended up seeing my tits after all."

Matthew simply continues to kiss her with a hand on the back of her neck before pulling back and sounding decidedly distracted as he mumbles, "don't ruin this moment for me." He cups both of her breasts in his hands and moves back to kiss her as she pants sloppily against his mouth.

Her mind drifts into nowhere and goes completely blank when he flicks a tongue over one of her nipples and she gasps some sort of expletive, bringing her hands back to his head where her fingers can sift through his hair. He sucks and tongs her savagely and it feels so amazing that she quickly forgets to even think about controlling her sighs and groans and whimpers.

Mary isn't sure how making out and pawing at each other has led to this. She reaches out for Matthew's belt and unhooks it, pulling it from his jean loops and throwing it out of her way before she rubs him teasingly with her palm through his pants. She smiles as he moans her name into her neck open mouthed and undoes his button and zipper, noting the strength of his arousal underneath her fingers. Once divested of his own trousers, Matthew works in easing her jeans over her hips and down her thighs. She's certain that they hadn't really set out to undress, consciously anyway, but at some point, between Matthew's mouth relishing her breasts and Mary's hands reaching into his jeans, they realize undressing is not only wise but imperative.

She's still leaning over him as his hands roam over her bottom to tug her jeans and panties off and she swallows apprehensively as he flips their positions and balances his weight on his elbows so as not to crush her. He kisses her mouth, then jaw, then neck, shoulder, breast, then trails gentle kisses down her stomach and over her abdomen, biting her hipbone before soothing the skin with his tongue. She gasps and bends her head to look at him. She's afraid her nervousness is becoming palpable, and when she speaks her apprehension makes her, already husky, voice slightly squeakier than she'd like it.

"Matthew… what?" Her enamored brain can't make comprehension of the last half hour- Matthew likes her. Matthew kissed her, her lips her neck, her breasts and, well everywhere, and it was _Matthew_ lying over her, wearing only very tented boxers she might add, and it was _Matthew_ whose tender lips were kissing her inner thigh.

It's only after he places another soft kiss to her hip that he answers. "Oh," he murmurs awkwardly against her skin, "I'm sorry." He kisses her stomach. "I suppose I've been fantasizing about this for such a long time now, I forgot to ask." He looks at her apologetically, as if he's afraid he's done something unforgivable, "I'm so sorry, Mary." He kisses her hip yet again and, not wanting or needing an apology, she shushes him with her question. She can feel herself flushing all over, she aches for him.

"Fantasizing about what?" she questions quietly, watching as he kisses her inner thigh once more. She's too bewildered at the thought that he'd been fantasizing about her at all to even fathom what said fantasy could even consist of. And anyway, she's pretty certain she couldn't add together four and six when his head is between her thighs.

"About going down on you," he breathes.

Oh my god. If she couldn't concentrate before, she certainly can't now.

She's trembling in nervous anticipation and she knows he's still waiting for her to say something, but her brain just can't function at the moment.

"It's ok," he says, "I mean, it's totally fine if you don't want to. I'm more than happy to just do what we've been doing." He kisses his way up her stomach and she sighs, her mind fuzzing over. Of course he was this considerate- kind hearted, loving, Matthew who put her feelings above his own- she rolls her eyes slightly at this but she's consumed, if possibly, by even more affection for him.

"It's okay," she whispers, watching as his pupils dilate and his hand strokes over her skin, and suddenly she can only concentrate on the feeling of his lips pressing up her thighs.

Mary's mind goes completely and utterly beyond blank when Matthew's tongue makes an experimental sweep of her sex. She gasps loudly and her hands search desperately for something to cling onto when he does it again. She's urgently in need of something to hold onto because the tip of his tongue catches against her clit and the noises she's making are beyond her. The floor provides her with no grips so she grasps Matthew's hair and thrusts her head back against the rug, her eyes wide open staring, unseeing, at the ceiling. All she can focus on is the heat from his tongue and the way it sends sparks shooting through her body. And all she wants is for him to keep going, keep making her body shudder and shake in pleasure, keep pushing her towards the edge, keep going, to please please…

" _Oh_ god… Matthew… _please_ … _Matthew_."

Afterwards, when Matthew has shuffled them over so they're leaning against the foot of the sofa, she sits, slumped like jelly in his lap. She's still panting, still trembling, still shaking from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Matthew is running his hands smoothly over her arms and kissing her forehead and temple repeatedly, and then her neck when she's so weak she can't keep her head up from flopping onto his shoulder.

She's never come so hard or so loudly before in her life. She couldn't remember ever feeling so good.

She tries to say something but it turns into a weak hum and he laughs lightly. His hands are still rubbing her sweat beaded skin and she builds enough strength, after a while, to turn and kiss him. She can feel his arousal against her leg and it build up heat in her again, causing her to involuntarily roll her hips against his. He bucks against her and groans loudly into her mouth. They continue like this for a while before Matthew pulls away and Mary huffs in protest, causing him to give her a regretful smile.

"Mary…" his voice is still gravelly and low, even as he looks at her sadly, "I can't… we have to stop."

Mary looks at him confused. "Why?" She tries her best to not feel so disappointed and embarrassed. "Do you not want to? What's wrong?" She ignores the pang in her chest and does her level best not to let her feelings show on her countenance.

"No… I- well, I uh…" He babbles, stumbling over his own words, and she supposes that the fact that he's clearly very aroused isn't helping his mind work particularly quickly. "Mary… I…" he continues to fumble his speech and she continues to feel more and more mortified at the fact that he clearly doesn't want to do this. "It's just…" he says, finally deciding he might as well just say it, "I don't have a condom."

Mary softens, seeing how awkward and embarrassed he is at the same moment she feels her own unease evaporate at once. She lifts her hand to his cheek and strokes a thumb over his smooth skin, bringing her face to hers to gently kiss him. "It's alright," she says, "It doesn't matter."

Matthew's eyes widen and he takes her in in a bewildered second before shaking his head profusely. "Mary," he sighs, "it does matter. I don't want this to be something you regret…"

She kisses him again to shush him. "Matthew, I went on the pill for this holiday so I could swim." She can feel him smile against her lips and she pushes him to a lying position as she leans down to kiss his chest, moving slowly to the hair above his waistband. She grins devilishly as Matthew hisses, his breathing hard, chest moving rapidly as she dips her hand into his boxers and takes hold of him, stroking him with her palm. She divests of his boxers completely and kneels between his legs. Mary can taste his skin as he runs his tongue along Matthew's twitching erection, and takes the head into her mouth, tongue rubbing teasingly along the tip. Mary suckles gently, and pulls back, teasing the shaft now as Matthew groans and his breathing hitches.

She pulls off after a minute, smirking at how dazed and flustered he is beneath her. He regains enough capacity to move up and switch their places, kissing her hungrily as she hums in delight at his actions.

If there was anyone else in the house, or even in the near vicinity, the pair of them would certainly have been heard, as they make no effort to muffle or stifle their groans and shouts of ecstasy.

As it turns out, three hours really isn't that much time, and they've completely lost track of the hour. By the time Sybil prizes the door open, the two of them are both fully dressed, leaning against each other on the sofa as they giggle at some secret Sybil can only speculate about.


End file.
